


A Live In One

by Lemongrass13



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Brainwashing, Graphic Depictions of Torture, Hurt, Id say this counts as angst, Jim Moriarty is an awful human being, Jim Moriarty/John Watson is one sided!!!, Kidnapping, Knife Play, M/M, Waterboarding, Who needs comfort?, and unhealthy, general awfulness, very dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 17:37:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7371244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemongrass13/pseuds/Lemongrass13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Moriarty kidnaps John Watson, for a multitude of reasons. Sherlock is gone,and Moriarty did always want a live in.</p><p>Sherlock is on a race against himself to save John Watson</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my goodness I am awful, I am so sorry.

                  When John came to, the first thing he noticed was the pounding headache. He looks around and is trying to think, but his head feels like it has been stuffed with cotton balls.  
“Hello there Johnny boy.” Said a familiar voice. It was too familiar. The man, the spider, walks into the limelight where John could see him. He goes to move his hands to rub his eyes, to see if this was real, but his hand as tied to the chair. What would Sherlock have done? What would Sherlock have done? John didn’t know, all he knew at the moment was the zombie walking towards him.  
“No.” John moaned out, not able to form a full complaint.  
“No?” Moriarty questions “Darling you can’t say no to me.” he smiles, full teeth, like a piranha.  
               Moriarty touches a hand to John’s cheek, pulling the soldier to face him. John did the only thing he could think of at the moment, it was dumb and Sherlock would be rolling in his grave over the choice, but he spit with all his might at the mastermind. The glimmering light that was there was immediately extinguished leaving the eyes beady and black, like a hawk. The hand that cupped John’s cheek dug it’s manicured nails into his weathered skin.  
“I am going to make you bleed.” He whispers in John’s ear, breath ghosting on his skin. He moves his face into the blonde man’s hair, and moves back with an exaggerated sniffing motion. Then he straightens himself out and walks away, leaving John on his own to piece together what is happening. The moment the door slams John let’s out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. He notices an itch in his left hand, and looks at it. There was an IV line leading out of his hand, to a bag full of fluid that was just out of his reach to kick over. Not that it mattered, because his legs were also strapped to the chair. To add insult to injury, his shoes were gone.  
             The concrete floor chilled his bare feet, and he wondered how he could ignore it. He started letting his mind wander. Cold feet, cold,winter, ice, ice blue, Sherlock’s eyes, his lips. John shook himself out of that. He couldn’t think about that right now, he should have been doing what Sherlock would do- he pauses would have done. It’s not like Sherlock could pop out of the shadows, baritone booming through like that night with the mistaken identity. His date didn’t come home with him that night, but he wasn’t all that disappointed because Sherlock did. When they first got back to the flat he was angry a bit at John back then. Angry because that day he managed to get in danger, and Sherlock wasn’t the cause.  
_“You need to stop doing that” Sherlock said that night, cold as the ice in his eyes_  
 _“Stop what? Dating? Going out?” John shouted back, his temper beating him that night_  
 _“Getting in danger! I can’t lose you John!” Sherlock screamed back. He then froze, like a machine with a glitch._  
 _“I am sorry, that was,” Sherlock breathed out_  
 _“Sherlock, I didn’t know that was how” John said_  
 _Then they rushed each other like hungry wolves.Their mouths collided like cars in the same lane. It was violent, it was hectic. The kiss was all teeth and gripping.Sherlock tore off John’s shirt, revealing soft abs hiding underneath. Sherlock moved his kisses downward, down John’s mouth, down his neck. John groaned at the heat he felt from the passion he and Sherlock had. The kisses became a soft sucking in the small of his neck. Then they kept moving down to his chest, the kisses and random sucking moved to John’s nipples. Sherlock flicked them with his tongue and laughed as John moved his hands to pull on Sherlock’s curls. John dropped to his knees and unzipped Sherlock’s trousers, and moved his mouth closer._  
CRASH  
                John was jerked out of his memories and back to his captivity by the slamming of a door. A man he had never seen before entered the room. He was a hulking man, husky and large. He approached John and put a hand into his pocket. He pulls out a large knife and cuts down John’s t-shirt. John was relieved that instead of being violated he was just going to be stabbed. No wait, that was awful too. The man made a gash in his chest. Crimson welled up on the line he created on the blank canvas. John grunts in pain, not willing to give the man the satisfaction of a scream. A crackle resounds through the room.  
“Don’t hurt him too much, I need him intact Moran.” The spider’s voice says over the loudspeaker.  
Moran grunts and dips his head.  
                   He grabs a rag from his belt and cleans off his knife. He makes a downward slash, and an upward and another down. John was biting his lip so hard to avoid screaming he didn’t know blood came out of. Nor did he notice the leakage almost worse than his screams, but of his tears. Moran left John to his misery and blood drenched chest. Moriarty comes through the door, his shoes click clacking against the rock hard ground.  
“I’m sorry it has to be this way love,” Moriarty says stepping closer to John, “But how else can I make you able to understand?” He brings a finger to John’s bleeding chest, it becomes soaked in blood. John shudders and tries to flinch away. Moriarty maintains eye contact with John’s as he puts the finger in his mouth. He swirls it around and lets out a moan of pleasure. John feels sick. Suddenly Moriarty drops to John’s level and lets his tongue loll. He moves to John’s chest and drags the slimy article around. To John it feels like a dead fish.  
“I swear if I wasn’t strapped down I would-” John begins to threaten  
“Oh but you are strapped down Johnny Boy,” He stands up and straightens his tie “Pity he didn’t do this before me.” The man pivots on his heel and leaves. John is alone with his thoughts again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness this was the worst.


	2. Chapter 2

                       Only this time, John could not dredge up a pleasant memory to distract from his situation. All he could feel was the itching in his hand and the cold of the concrete. Oh, and the giant bleeding wounds on his chest. It burned, unlike the pain he was used to. The pain in his leg or in his shoulder on a bad day were a duller ache. It felt more like an intense pressure, like something was sitting on him instead of this burning in his chest. It felt similar to if he was branded. Ah! That was a memory he could latch onto. 

                When he was a much younger man, really a prepubescent boy, he and Harry went over to their uncle’s farm across the sea in America. His uncle ran some sort of business involving cows, and they all had raised marks on them. One calf didn’t, but over the course of the month he spent that changed. His uncle took John into the forge and heated up a metal rod that had the same mark as the rest of the cows. It was roasting in the fire as a farmhand brought in the calf. The uncle demanded he put the iron onto the perfect white fur and skin on the calf. John refused, so the uncle picked it up and put it to the skin of the calf. If an animal could scream and plead, that’s what it sounded like, John decided. He was left in charge of helping the calf heal. He bandaged it up. Looking at himself now, John reckons that’s what he needed, a bandage. Maybe some antibiotics. A bark forces it’s way out his mouth.

“What’s so funny doll?” Moriarty asks over the loudspeaker

“Didn’t give me any bandages,” He says “This way I can die sooner.” 

“Oh no John, it didn’t slip my mind. The cuts were made specifically to scar, not kill you.” Moriarty explains

“What?”

“Well I needed to mark you as mine somehow.” Moriarty says as if he were a three year old “Did you even look at the shape?”

John realized he hadn’t ,as he really didn’t like looking at his gaping chest wound. Now that he looked down he recognized a crude shape. The shape of an M.

“Why are you doing this?” John demands, biting back a bit of bile from his sick stomach.

“Now why would I ruin the surprise Johnny Boy?” 

Someone else was talking in the booth now, too quiet to really understand.

“Johnny, daddy needs to go and kill someone, you just stay put. Ta!” He says

            John waits a few minutes, pondering the exchange before he realizes something. Who the hell refers to himself as ‘Daddy’. John is still holding back from vomiting, as he isn’t exactly going to be able to project it, so it would end up all over him. Even if he were able to, he doubts he’d be able to stand having rotting vomit near him, and it would be a fool's bet to say someone would clean it up. When did he last eat something to vomit up anyway. He’s been awake for almost a day. He guesses it was a day anyway. Not like he could really tell. Who knows (other than his captor) how long he’d been out? And for good measure this weird room had no windows. What would Sherlock do? Never mind that, not do, what would he have done. John needed to stop thinking about Sherlock in present tense. Sherlock Holmes is dead. But, for now, maybe John can think of what he might have said.

          Damp, cool, no windows, maybe somewhere underground? No wait, speaker system like that, maybe a warehouse? That would make sense, a warehouse of some kind. But why? Why John of all people? He may seem self pitying, but it was a legitimate question. What made John so interesting to sociopaths and psychopaths? This was the second time for god’s sakes! The door opened again, and John was almost excited to see another person. Almost. It was someone other than Moran and he was carrying a tub of something sloshing a bit, and a large rag. John knows what’s about to happen, at least he thinks he knows. Some of the people he treated in Afghanistan described these things as the instruments of their torture. The man sits down next to John’s seat, placing the tub of sloshing at his feet. He puts the cloth in, one hand holding it steady. It looks like this is the first time this towel will have ever been used. It was beige, fluffy at first. It turned to a brown in the water Water seems to turn everything darker. The towel was swirled around, creating a tiny whirlpool in the tub. He pulls the towel out and wrings it out, making it damp not sopping.

“This will be the closest I’m getting to a shower for a while, eh?” John quips, more to entertain himself than the man next to him. The man still laughs.

“Sorry about this. But,” The man says

“But what?” John asks

“You could stop this from happening.” 

“How?” John asks, if there was any way at all he could stop this he would do it.

“You need to admit Sherlock Holmes was a fake.”  John balks at this idea. He really didn’t want to, but what if he said it but didn’t mean it? No this was what Moriarty would want him to do. Eventually if he said it that sick man would make him believe it. John refused to give him the first step. He steels his face.

“Suit yourself.” The man says, and slams John’s head back, and straps it there. He pulls the cloth up and lowers it over John’s face.

Breath slowly you aren’t drowning

Breath slowly

Breath

Oh god John couldn’t breath

      The towel has fixed itself to John’s nostrils and over his mouth. Water was poured on him, going down his mouth. John sputters and thrashes. He was drowning. John was going to die. Water was seeping into his eyes and- and-. And, the drowning stopped.

“You ready to say it?”

“Go to hell.” John spats

The drowning is back and John was not ready.

\----

         Sherlock Holmes was not having fun pretending to be dead. He has taken down many of Moriarty’s clients and contacts in Africa and the America’s. It was tough work, he hadn’t gotten a nice cup of tea in weeks, and he was tired. Maybe John would make him tea once Sherlock comes back to London. That is, he’ll probably make some after he has gotten over the fact Sherlock faked his death. In the grave yard that day, his last day in London, John asked him for one more miracle. He couldn’t wait to see the excitement back in John’s eyes. Maybe they could go out for a nice dinner together once John has gotten over himself. His cell phone started to vibrate taking him away from his musings. 

“What do you want Mycroft?” Sherlock asks

“I need you to resurrect earlier than planned brother dear.” Mycroft says, chitter chatter of an office in the background

“Why? I haven’t even come close to the goal for pre-resurrection?” Sherlock asks “Are you out of your depth?”

“John Watson has been kidnapped.” Mycroft says gravely.

“Get me a flight back. Now” Sherlock snaps his phone shut and breaths out. He raises his eyes to the sky. Not really the sky, more at the dripping and sagging ceiling. He has to get John back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just got so eager to post, so instead of adhering to my planned weekly schedule, I posted. Chapter three will probably be up soon too.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock was miserable. He had to catch a redeye flight, he had to talk to Mycroft, he was unkempt, and to make matters worse someone took his John.  
“How did you lose him?” Sherlock screams at his brother when they meet face to face.  
“Whoever took him was very-”   
“I gave you one job while I was off being ‘dead’, take care of John.” Sherlock says  
That’s the moment Mycroft’s phone decided to ring  
“Ah ah ah ah stayin’ alive stayin’ -” Mycroft picks up his phone and cuts the unfamiliar ringtone short.  
“Who is this?” Mycroft asks curtly. Deep in his heart he knew who it was.  
“Oh it’s just me! Calling to check in on Sherly.” By now Mycroft had put it on speakerphone. “Thought he would like to hear how his little pet was doing” singsongs the spider.  
Sherlock snatches the phone practically breathing fire at the admission of who took John.  
“Give him back.” Sherlock demands   
“Mmmm No,” Moriarty says “see I’ve found him rather endearing. I’m keeping him.”  
“You bastard.”  
“You know what? Just for that little comment I’ll play an audio clip of John’s most recent,” He pauses “experience. I’ll play it now.”   
There was a click  
“Alright Watson you know what you have to say for this to stop.” An unknown man says.  
“Piss off.” John says, weakly albeit. Sherlock has to smile a little at the venom and fight in John’s voice. The sound of splashing occurs. Sherlock somewhat wishes John would have given in.  
“I’ll ask again John, please say it.”  
“S-Sherlock Holmes is,” John stutters between coughs  
“Good, now finish the sentence.” The man encourages.  
“Sherlock Holmes is- i-is,” A sharp inhale “Sherlock Holmes is the best man I ever knew and I” He is cut off by the sound of skin hitting skin.  
“Now I gotta change up tactics. There goes your all your nails.”  
“Fuck you.” John spats. The phone clicked again.  
“I must admit you trained him well, that was after fifteen rounds underwater.”  
“Let me talk to him.”  
Moriarty hums as if seriously considering it.  
“Once he’s better trained I’ll consider it.” The phone goes to dial tone, the man not bothering a goodbye.  
***  
“Fuck you.” John spats at Moran. The man walks over to a silver tray with a sigh.He returns with a pair of pliers.  
“Hands or feet first?”  
“I’ll repeat myself if you need to hear it.” John snarks  
“Feet, hands, feet, “ Moran pauses “Hands it is!” Moran clicks the tool a few times and he moves closer to John. The strapped down man tries to squirm his hands away from the teeth of the upcoming pliers. The IV line in his left hand becomes irritated and itchy with the movement. Moran slams a fist down on his hand, shocking him to stop moving it. Moran uses the moment of shock to strap down John’s hand better. Then he picks the pliers back up.  
“See, you made me drop it!” He exclaims annoyed  
“My mistake.” John spats. The plier worms it’s way under John’s fingernail and he lets out a choked noise. It locks on and begins pulling out. John can’t help himself, he shouts. Moran lets a sickening smile show on his face  
“What a pretty noise.” He says while he yanks the nail out of it’s bed. He waves the nail in front of John’s face, still in the pliers, and runs it down his cheek. John’s pointer finger dripping blood. Moran moves the plier to John’s middle finger when the door slams open.  
“Daddy’s home!” Moriarty shouts, arms open as if he was expecting praise. Moran straightens up   
“Sir.”  
“Moran, aren’t you proactive! I appreciate the new technique” He smirks “But I’d like to get a bit more hands on with him right now”  
Moran laughs,   
“Good one sir”  
Moriarty looks a little dazed before laughing himself  
“Oh my that was a clever play on words! Thank you Moran!”  
Moran nods and leaves the room  
“Oh now Johnny boy, it is just us two, alone at last!” Moran shouts  
John stays silent, still in a bit of shock over his fingernail being straight up ripped out of his hand  
“Now I heard you were very uncooperative while I was gone, so I have to finish your punishment.” He says it as if scolding a naughty child caught with a bloody hand in the cookie jar.  
He picks up the pliers and tuts.   
“Of course I could only do one hand instead of all of your nails on your other hand and your toenails.” He offers. John stays silent, stoic, for just a moment before looking at his finger  
“What?” John asks  
“Something small, something inconsequential, something nice.” Moriarty says  
“What is it?” John pleas  
“I want a kiss!” Moriarty exclaims and touches the pliers to his cheek “Right here.”  
“Alright.” John mutters eyes darkening. Moriarty leans forward, cheek brandished out to him. John goes in as quick as he can to get this over with. Moriarty shakes his head and John’s lips make contact with the mastermind’s. He goes to pull away but his head is still strapped to the chair, and Moriarty is tightening the strap. The man sits on John, straddling him. He forces his dead fish tongue into John’s mouth. It tastes coppery and wet. John’s eyes snap open and his cheeks flush. Moriarty bucks on top of John and the blood rushes from his cheeks down. Moriarty mercifully pulls back after a lifetime spent in two minutes. Hands are braced against John’s still stinging chest.  
“Now how was that love?” He is asked. John can’t answer, he can only shake.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've adopted this as my NaNoWriMo project, so it will definitely be getting more updates soon! As a makeup for forgetting this story, here is shameless smut

Sherlock Holmes was fuming. That man had taken his John! Yes, Sherlock may have been absent for a bit, but Moriarty knew he was coming back. This was low, even for him. Speaking of low, how did he survive the fall after shooting himself in the head. Sherlock should have seen something was off about the scene, and he knew something was wrong but he played along anyway.  
This was ridiculous. By now he could have gotten through half of Asia’s web, but he was stuck here because his fool of a brother lost the only important thing left. That fat bastard. Sherlock took in another drawl from his cigarette, mind racing faster than ever before trying to connect the dots. He played the sound of John being dunked over and over and over. He needed to hear John, hear that fight was left in him. Even if it hurt. Oh there were much better ways to hurt John Watson if only you asked nicely. And, Sherlock was smart enough to ask.   
It was a cold day on their first date, subsequently leading to their first time. John was grumpy, a bad day at the clinic. Probably had to diagnose something dismal, like cancer when a patient showed a weird bump that they found. That would make John upset. Silly John, feeling something for a complete stranger. It had been a week since that first kiss, the car crash and fireworks of it still replaying in his head, like a song that was too catchy.   
“Do you want to go out tonight?” Sherlock asked. John looked up from his angry keyboard tapping.  
“For a case?” John responded, unsure  
“No, just for you and I tonight. I’m thinking Indian tonight.” Sherlock said, trying to play it off as if his heart wasnt aflutter.   
“Sure, I could go for some curry.” John answered, snapping shut his laptop as Sherlock.  
Dinner was marginal. John got something ridiculously spicy in the form of curry, Sherlock got a much less flavourful. He found too much on his plate was just too much for him to process, so he stuck with something that provided the correct stimulation to his palate. They lightly kicked each other under the table, like a couple of schoolboys with a crush. He vaguely remembers it being called “footsie”. Sherlock kept purposefully running food that was round across his lip and into his mouth, slowly as to draw John’s attention to what his mouth will hopefully doing tonight. It worked John was transfixed on his face his eyes flicking between Sherlock's lips and eyes. Internally Sherlock grins. As they flirt and talk a bit more and John asked Sherlock to deduce people near them. It was a game they had, going back and forth trying to deduce things from people and citing what tipped them off. As the meal ends a server comes over to pick up their plates.  
“Would you gentlemen care for any dessert tonight?” He asked  
“I think we’ll be having something sweet at home, thanks.” Sherlock answers, and John blushes. Not the angry cherry red flush he gets when Sherlock does something considered “not good”. This flush looked much better on John’s features. A light dusting of pastel pink over his cheeks.  
They walk briskly back after they pay the bill, trying to get back to the apartment as quick as possible. They ran close together and when they got there they could barely make it up the stairs before grabbing each others faces. John and Sherlock kissed like that for a little, closed mouth, some hungry whining for more. John gnaws on Sherlocks lips as they kiss and Sherlock doesn't bother hiding the smile when he realizes what this means.   
“John can we go further than this?” Sherlock asked excited for the answer, knowing the answer but understanding the importance of posing it anyway.  
“Oh god yes.” John gasps before going back onto Sherlock's mouth. A tongue touches the edge of thin lips and Sherlock grants it entry. He. It's the tongue lightly at the tip and feels himself grow harder at the moan it elicits from John  
Finding out John liked it rough was like a ray of heaven shined down on Sherlock. Kissing while shoving John toward a bedroom Sherlock could feel John grow hard as they battled each other to get to the bed. John ends up pushing Sherlock down onto it and he knows this is a fight he wants to lose.   
“Further?” John asks   
“As far as you want John” Sherlock replies voice like a cello on the lowest note, deep but filled with tension.  
“Too many clothes.” John complains as Sherlock sucks on his neck. Sherlock stops to take off his shirt but finds John on top of him ripping open the buttons. John bites on Sherlock's neck, hard, and endorphins rushed through Sherlock as he groaned with pleasure. They tear each others clothes while buying and sucking on any exposed skin. Both had cocks erect as a flag pole by now, and John decided to get creative  
“Cuff me!” He demands as Sherlock grads the cuffs he had on his nightstand. Sherlock immediately obliged, loving the boss personality he got out of John. Sherlock cuffed him spread eagle on the bed. He had to pause to take in the porcelain colored man. Curly gold chest hair left a little trail down to his thick member , a bright red color. Sweat was rolling down John like he was a junkie in withdrawal. As Sherlock laid on top of him he began to beg. Sherlock knew something would be wanted as him began to work his way to John's thighs with a trail of sloppy kisses.  
“May I add in the riding crop?” Sherlock asks as John’s eyes become even further clouded by lust.  
“Use it on me Sherlock.” John demands. Sherlock quirks an eyebrow, and he hits John. In the thigh with it. John hisses and closes his eye, but his dick leaks precum after.  
“Again.” John insists and Sherlock is happy to oblige, the taller man getting even harder as the red welts begin to form from the hit on John's leg.   
“Sherlock please more.” John begs “want to be in you. Sherlock smiles as he pulls out a condom. He puts it slightly unwrapped over John's thick flesh, a little air at the top , and uses his mouth to unroll it down the shaft bobbing his head up and down like it was a lollipop. John moans again as Sherlock lifts off the cock and slathers on some lube.   
“Sherlock fuck yourself on my cock please.” John asks Sherlock is panting with wantonness as he lowers himself onto John. He is full very quickly and it hurts but also feels so good.  
“God you're so tight.” John works out between moans as he bucks up and down into Sherlock  
Sherlock feels himself answer but is high on the pleasure for it to be more than begging and moans. It only takes a bit more till Sherlock, exhausted cums onto John's chest, and John came quickly after seeing Sherlock soaked in sweat. Sherlock unlocks the cuffs John had on so the good doctor could examine his wrists. Those were definitely gonna bruise he thinks.  
Sherlock smiles at the memory of him and John cuddling after that, in a haze of post lovemaking on Sherlock's bed. John played with his hair a lot that night, and every night after they had sex it seemed John fixated on Sherlock's curls after. God he needed John back.


	5. Chapter 5

“Hello Johnny boy!” Moriarty says, stirring John from his light sleep. His stomach grumbles at the interruption  
“I thought we’d start something new today!” He continues as John looks around  
“What?” John asks, knowing it is better to expect something than to be shocked by it.  
“Now where’s the fun in telling you?” Was the response he got. “I’m gonna run a few errands now, but tonight we are going to have fun.” Moriarty turned on his heel and left, John spits after him, but only when he was out of earshot. A scared looking woman in a lab coat enters the room. SHe walks over silently, jumping at the sound of every drip and clank in the warehouse. She had a leather bag with her. She pulled a salve out and rubbed it on his chest wounds. It stung, so John hissed. She looked apologetic, and opened her mouth as if to talk, but she snapped it shut. The lady doctor started wrapping a bandage around his chest.  
“Are you here because you have to be?” John asks quietly. She looks around nervously and nods.  
“He has my wife.” She whispers as she applies something to his fingers. John nods in understanding.  
“ I’m gonna fix you up, he wants you alive.” She says dejectedly  
“Listen, I know someone who can help you, but you need to tell him that I’m here.” John says, trying to help her and himself at the same time. Tears well up in the doctor’s eyes as she turned away to check on his IV and tinker with it.  
“He wouldn’t just kill her,” She pauses “You know that. I’m so sorry, but I can’t let something like this happen to her.” John understands, but it doesn’t stop the fire that spews from his mouth.  
“Our hippocratic oath says first do no harm, and I’m pretty bloody sure letting me be here alive is harm! So either kill me or get me out, either way you’d fulfill your oath.” John spits  
She flinches and her hair falls back behind her shoulder, he can see odd bruising around her neck.  
“I’ll- “ She stumbles over her words “I’ll fulfill my oath to you one way or another, just give me time” She whispers this into his ear, as if there were other people here to listen in.  
She scampers away after that into some far off corner. A man comes in a bit later, and pulls her by her arm up the stairs  
“I did what you asked you bastard let me see Liz!” She screamed and fought as she was dragged across John’s field of view. She was shaking with bitterness and fear, so heavy he could practically smell it in her every move. She was brought upstairs and John heard a gunshot, and a scream. The doctor was dragged back downstairs just as Moriarty returns.  
“She got mouthy sir.” The hulking man explains as the doctor has silent tear running down her face. Moriarty scrunches his face as if he didn't understand, then looked at the doctor’s knee. It was ruined by the gunshot, she would likely need that amputated.  
“Good response, I like my men thinking ahead of the curve.” He responds, and motions for the brute to come forward. The man follows the simple direction and when he was in reaching distance Moriarty stood on his tiptoes and patted the man on the head. The man’s face went from shock to anger, in just a few short seconds.  
“I think I’ll leave her here for entertainment John, like a pet for you.” He puts a thoughtful finger to his chin. “But first I think it’s time we played the game I mentioned hours ago.” He exaggerates the word hours, having it drag on for an obscene amount of time.  
He does a shooing hand motion at the doctor and the brute and he picks her up firemen’s style over his shoulder. Her eyes grow wide like a deer in the headlights and she begins kicking and screaming. Moriarty tuts at her like he did at John what felt like years ago.  
“Now Johnny, I’m going to ask you questions and you will answer them truthfully, or else.” Moriarty explains  
“Or else what?” John asks sick to his stomach already at the thought of baring his life to this monster  
“Oh I’m delighted you asked!” Moriarty claps his hands together in glee, then snaps his fingers twice. A shadowy man appears and hands something heavy with strings attached to it. In the limited circle of light John had he could see it was a battery of sorts and some jumper cables. His stomach sank even lower.  
“Everytime you lie the shock amount will increase, like the Milgram Shock Experiment, except these I assure you will be real. First Question: What’s your full name?” Moriarty demands  
“John Watson.” He responds. This might not be awful. Then it feels like he rubbed his feet on a carpet and touched a door handle.  
“What the bloody hell was that for?!” John asks, angry that he was being punished even though he followed directions  
“Full name includes middle name.” Moriarty seems to being waiting.  
“John Hamish Watson.” John grits and Moriarty smiles  
“See I knew you’d love this game!” Moriarty exclaims, as he ups the amperage and continues “Is Sherlock Holmes a fake?”  
“No.” John answers, and is shocked, it was unexpected as the first shock, and more painful than the first. Moriarty twists the dial up another setting with a small click.  
“What is your sister’s first name?” He asks his captive  
“Harriet.” John apprehensively stated, preparing himself for a shock that never came. Moriarty noticed his flinch though.  
“John,” He tuts “I told you I’d only shock you if you lied. Harriet is her name, and that’s what I wanted you to tell me. As long as you tell the truth I won’t press this button.” His finger hovered over aforesaid button, as a taunt, or a threat.  
“Who is the last person you went on a date with?” James Moriarty asks  
“Mary, Mary,” John scrambles to find her last name in his memory as he sees Moriarty’s hand inch towards the button. “Mary Morstan!” He says before the finger reaches its target. Moriarty sighs as he retracts his hand but twists the knob anyway.  
“You’re such a tease John, I almost had you there but you answered it in time,” He looks forelorney off into the distance melodramatically “Anywho, what’s your favorite color?”  
“Blue?” John answers, confused that this was the question asked of him, but grateful that it was easy. Moriarty smiles wide, showing most of his teeth in a blinding grin.  
“Was Sherlock Holmes a fake” Moriarty asks again.  
John furrows his brows and thinks for a moment before replying with a simple one word answer, “No.” The shock came again, and was one of the worst pains John had felt in a long while. He knew he screamed, but felt outside of himself, only settling back when the shocks stopped. He breathed heavily as he came back to himself the sharp smell of metal in his nose, trying to take in air while listening for any questions to come.  
“I hope this has been a helpful lesson, John, as we will continue this little game of mine several times before we are done here.” He looks John over, appraisingly nodding his head, hand on chin in the classic thinking pose. “Yes I think this will work.” He snaps his fingers and three men come down the stairs behind John, and come up to the chair where John is still strapped down.  
“Johnny, your muscles must ache a bit, after staying in this position for so long, I think you’ll enjoy this next part. If you don’t give my boys any trouble, this will be a lot easier for everyone”  
John highly doubts what Moriarty is saying, but he has been hurting being strapped down with his head back for so long. How long had he been here? At least three days, maybe a week.Maybe more. The men behind him come into his field of view. One leans over him and removes the strap from around his head releasing it. John does what feels natural, and headbutts the man with all the power his neck could muster.  
Apparently it was a lot of power, as the man staggers backward clutching his face. John sees blood run between the grunt’s fingers as he releases a piteous wail. John is about to let loose a small chuckle, as a hand lashes out and closes around his throat, cutting off air. He gasps, and his arms struggle, trying to reach his throat and free him. He is so panicked, he barely feels the the syringe go into his side.  
Moriarty sighs, heavier than before.

"He had to choose the hard way" was the last thing John heard as his vision went dark.


End file.
